“I will not be alone!” he cried to his servant. “Go! Seek some friends! Tell them that Drusus will drink to-night. Tell them that Bacchus will rule on the Esquiline. Go, boy!”
On a sumptuous couch in a gorgeously furnished apartment of the Praetorian Camp Sejanus proudly reclines. It is midnight. The room is lighted by a bronze lamp, shaped like a satyr’s face. It rests on a slender bronze pedestal with a base of three cloven feet. Carved figures of fauns, sylphs, and nereids in graceful poses come out of the shadows like dancing sprites. Red and yellow oriental silks, carelessly thrown over the chairs, look in the sallow light like tongues of flame. In a bronze tripod, ornamented with naked sylphs and satyrs, burns perfumed charcoal. An odor of incense pervades the room. The light seems to be a reflection from the lower world. Everything suggests an incantation.
Sejanus is happy. His face, in the yellow light, looks like that of a leering demon. As he reclines there, he is building huge and lofty castles in the air. He looks into the future. He sees a man seated on a curule chair, imperiously making laws and rendering decisions. That man is Sejanus. Again he sees a man clad in triumphal robes of purple adorned with gold. He is standing in a chariot of silver, drawn by four white horses abreast. In his right hand he carries a laurel branch; in his left, an ivory sceptre. Behind him a slave holds a golden crown over his head. The Forum is thronged with people, dressed in soft white togas and crowned with shining leaves or bright flowers. Songs of boys and girls, chants of priests and priestesses, war songs of the legions, joyful notes poured from long golden trumpets, and acclamations of the people, all rend the air. The glad tumult echoes from pillar to pillar of the pure white temples garlanded with flowers, as the Victor rides along the Via Sacra towards the Capitoline Hill. That Victor is Sejanus. Again he sees, seated on a throne, a man before whom senators, ambassadors, and kings of nations prostrate themselves, all anxiously, breathlessly, waiting to hear the words that fall from his lips. That emperor is Sejanus. Once more he looks into the future, and he sees a statue of a man placed amongst those of the gods. He sees the people falling down and worshipping it, as they do those of the Divine Julius and the Divine Augustus. He sees a body of priests and priestesses chanting litanies and making sacrifices to this new god. That new god is SEJANUS.
However, these dreams of self-advancement and self-glorification are far from being assured facts; for between him and the consummation of his dreams are many obstacles. There is Drusus, the son of Tiberius; there are the twins, sons of Drusus and Livilla; there are the sons of Germanicus,—Drusus, Nero, and Caligula,—these last being real princes of the blood of the Divine Augustus; there is the emperor himself.
But to this man, who can compass seeming impossibilities, nothing is too difficult. With such immense odds against him, he does not falter. Murder, the infamous tool that Livia and Tiberius had wielded to cement their power, is understood equally well by him. The five atrocious murders in the family of the Divine Augustus had sown in the heart of Sejanus seeds that have matured into deadly fruit.
He had recently executed a murder for the emperor in a peculiarly skilful and satisfactory manner. In gratitude for this service the emperor decreed that wherever one of his own statues stood, a statue of Sejanus should be erected beside that of his royal master. With this supreme honor conferred upon him, with the flattery of senate, soldiers, and common people, and with the conquest of Livilla’s heart, and her consent to his ambitious and murderous schemes, he feels well content with himself as he lies there. He is an emperor in everything except the name. But one thing must be done before he can feel absolutely secure. He calls a soldier, and gives an order, after which he takes up a silver cup and with an evil smile slowly sips his wine.
While Sejanus lies there dreaming, Gannon is pondering over his troubles. The poor lad patiently awaits some sign that can be construed as a hope of pardon. He has seen no one except a servant, who carried him some supper. The time passes slowly, and the monotony of silence is broken only by the soldiers as they call out the hours for changing the watch. He is sleepy, and decides to go to bed. Just then he is startled by hearing footsteps in the corridor. He hears his name called, and receives an order to appear on the roof. Joyfully he springs from his couch, for he thinks he is now pardoned. Yet the command is an unusual one. What can it mean? With his young heart bounding with hope, he mounts the steps lightly, taking care not to stumble in the darkness. When he reaches the last step, the soldier, who had shortly before received an order from Sejanus, catches him by the throat, another seizes his body, and before the poor boy can collect his thoughts, he is carried to the railing that borders the edge of the roof, and is thrown into the street below.
As he strikes the ground, a pitiful groan is heard. A spasmodic tremor passes through his body, and then all is still.